


Process

by yeaka



Category: Arrival (2016)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 19:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10419621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: After Abbott’s death process, they aren’t broken long.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This doesn’t actually work for a multitude of reasons, such as Abbott and Costello not being their actual names, not knowing their genders/concepts, and them not thinking in a language anything like this is written, but oh well. I just write what feels right.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Arrival or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Abbott twitches and falls—Costello reaches out to stop it, even knowing he isn’t fast enough. It’s already started, has been for some time, but the true _end_ is sudden. Abbott’s limbs crumble beneath him, one by one, and the rest of him slinks down. Each limb twists beyond the joins, curling in, and the ink’s already slipping through their seams.

A black cloud forms around Abbott, composed of his own life, and his body shrinks for it, shriveling. It’s a grizzly, unpleasant sight, but Costello watches anyway—the rewards will be worth the pain. The pain will make the recover feel more poignant. The relief to follow will be joyous.

Abbott sputters a final word, the circle incomplete, the wisps shaken and difficult to understand. The tip that spewed it is spluttering, the tendrils unable to draw back together after. Costello writes something back without thinking; he’s never known what he says here. Just comforting babbling. Abbott makes a guttural noise, and Costello responds in a soothing hum until Abbott’s silent and motionless: a tiny, desiccated husk on the floor. 

For a time—too long, even to him—the pod feels empty. Costello stands and waits. There’s a flicker of regret, even knowing all that blossomed from Abbott’s sacrifice; both the little creatures lived and their piece was delivered. It’s hard, looking at Abbott now, to think it worth the price. His former shell was thin and shy, but it was noble, and it knew so much. Their experiences together deserve to live on in more than just one mind. 

They’ll have more experiences, he thinks, gorgeous and full. They’re equally as valuable.

Abbott’s limbs disintegrate from each end, skin flaking into the atmosphere, dissipating from black to grey, until all that’s left is the central core. Costello watches it. Again, it all feels _too long_ , and he wonders if that’s _Louise’s fault_ ; time wasn’t like this before he knew her.

Even thinking like an alien, he knows like himself, and he subsides until the new buds protrude from the core. They grow thicker as they reach longer, seven new limbs scrabbling slowly at the air, until there’s enough to lift the body up, and it collapses to sit, ends puffing untrained flecks of ink.

Costello folds more gracefully. He rests his core on bent limbs, two remaining. Abbott peers up at him through fresh understanding.

He begins to show Abbott their words, teaching it all anew, and sews the circle back together.


End file.
